


Doubt

by Markovia



Series: A Good Deed [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Arguments, Established Relationship, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-06 20:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11043468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: He's been jealous before - of his humans, of the ease at which they formed relationships - but he's never experienced it like this before.





	1. Coveted

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 'A Good Deed' timeline. This one will have two parts as it was getting a little long. Enjoy!

“Do you remember the last time we were both at one of Shinra’s birthday parties?” 

 

Izaya chuckled lightly and passed Shizuo the drink he had been pouring for him. “Vividly. We agreed on a truce.”

 

“Then you threw a knife into my back,” the blond scowled. He took a drag of the cigarette hanging between his middle and forefingers. “Little shit.”

 

“Well, let’s just hope tonight doesn’t end the same way,” Izaya sneered, jabbing a bony elbow into the other man’s side. 

 

They were situated in the kitchen, out of the hullabaloo raging in the main living room. Music was blaring loudly from a speaker by the balcony which Kadota lent to the doctor for the special occasion. Bottles of alcohol littered the countertops, most of them now half-empty. From the sheer quantity of them it seemed that the party-guests remembered the foul concoction that Celty prepared for them last time and chose to bring their own. The kitchen was vacant apart from the two of them, so they had space to sit at the kitchen island while Shizuo finished his smoke. Izaya was clutching the bottle of expensive whiskey he brought in one hand and a full glass in the other. He gestured to his partner with the bottle as Shizuo stabbed the cigarette butt into an empty bottle. 

 

“Could you hold this for a second while I-” he paused and motioned with his head toward the walking stick that was propped against the countertop. “It’s just difficult to manoeuvre without a free hand.”

 

Shizuo nodded and took the bottle from him. He glanced up and down the smaller man’s body as he clambered to his feet. It looked like Izaya was having one of so-called ‘bad days’ by the small furrow between his brows and the jerky movements when he walked. “You need a hand, flea?”

 

“Nah. I’ve g-got it,” he said, voice strained slightly from the exertion. He planted his feet on the floor and swiftly tucked the walking stick beneath his arm. His hips ached terribly today, the result of a poor night’s sleep and an attempt to run across his living room while Shizuo was in the shower. It had been a stupid idea, he thought, but he just wanted to see if he could still do it. To his surprise, his legs did as they were told for around twenty seconds. Nowhere near as fast as he once was, of course, but still - he  _ ran.  _ His initial happiness was quickly dashed when his knees buckled and he landed face-first on the floor. Never mind - he would keep working at it. With a sigh, he raised the glass of whiskey and took a sharp sip to try and nullify his discomfort. 

 

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom, you be okay here or-?” Shizuo asked, standing up from his seat. The informant pursed his lips at the ease of the other man’s action. It looked so simple - it  _ had been _ so simple until the moment he couldn’t do it anymore. Part of him would always resent the blond for what he did, even if forgiveness easily rolled off his tongue. It had to - he’d tried to kill Shizuo too, after all. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be pissed off every once in awhile. 

 

Izaya shook his head. “I think I’m going to go and sit on the balcony for a little while, it’s boiling in here.”

 

“You need a ha-?”

 

“No,” the smaller man snapped, turning to face the door. His face flushed with annoyance as he started to limp awkwardly toward the louder room. “Stop mollycoddling me, Shizu-chan. It’s irritating.”

 

“You’re irritating,” came the gruff reply. 

 

The information broker ignored the agitated sigh from behind him and carried on moving through the crowd toward the glass doors on the other side of the room. He passed so many familiar faces on the way - Kadota and his crew, dancing by the speaker. Kyouhei looked smarter than usual in a pair of dark jeans and a light shirt that had been rolled up at the cuffs. His trademark hat was missing and his hair was flopping over his forehead with each bouncy dance move. Izaya wondered if there was someone there he was trying to impress. The man seemed to sense him staring and glanced across the room. He gave the informant a cheery wave and grinned happily. Izaya raised his hand in return but the smile he gave felt weary rather than merry. Shinra and Celty were among a group of people that he only vaguely recognised. The former was gesturing wildly with an excited look on his face, clearly in the middle of telling a story. Celty was close by his side, as always, donned in a black dress that Izaya found quite fetching on her. The Dullahan was finally starting to warm to him, or at least she was pretending to for Shizuo’s sake. Izaya still didn’t know what to make of her - it was hard to judge her emotions without a face to read. 

 

A hand slammed down on his shoulder hard enough to make one of his knees begin to bend but before he stumbled a set of hands gripped beneath his armpits and dragged him upright. With an angry hiss he turned his head to find the amused face of his secretary staring back at him. 

 

“Watch your step,” Namie taunted, releasing him. She folded her arms across her chest as he pivoted to face her fully. “It would be such a shame if you fell and got trampled to death.”

 

Izaya rolled his eyes. The woman was still snarky, downright nasty sometimes - but she’d grown to something akin to a ‘best friend’, not that he told her that of course. They spent frequent evenings together, getting drunk on expensive wine, playing chess or debating topics of interest. Shizuo was often absent for these get-togethers. ‘ _ Fucking wasted brainiacs ain’t really my thing’ _ . Izaya looked her up and down and shot her a filthy smirk. 

 

“You look good for once,” he jeered, peering up at her through his lashes. She was wearing a deep navy shirt that was tucked into a skin-tight black skirt that stopped around mid-thigh, an outfit which accentuated her physique perfectly. Not a hair was out of place, not a speck of dust was on her clothes, nor a touch of makeup smudged - how very her, he thought. “Maybe I should take you home instead of Shizuo?”

 

Namie rolled her eyes at his lechery as he moved closer to her. He held onto her shoulder as if flirting but they both knew that it was for support, he from the ache in his legs, she from the pressure of his grip. That period of their lives was a sensitive topic, one they didn’t speak of very often. When they did, they layered the truth with scathing jest and the smirk they both used to cover up how they felt. Pride always was their greatest sin. As such, both were happy to play along with the other’s games - it was part of the reason they got on so well. 

 

“Maybe I could take Shizuo home instead?” Namie suggested, teasingly. “I’m not really into brattish assholes like you.” 

 

The informant laughed lightly and released her shoulder, leaning his weight back against his stick. “How come you’re here anyway? Seiji wasn’t invited.”

 

Her eyes darkened at the mention of her brother’s name. “I want to get blind drunk.”

 

“Any reason?” Izaya queried, raising a brow. “Or just your burgeoning alcoholism?”

 

Namie’s nose wrinkled in disgust at whatever thought was passing through her head. “Seiji proposed to that little fuckwit.”

 

“Ah,” he replied, tilting his head to one side. The informant had known this for a couple of days now but decided to let her find out for herself - there was no way he was detonating that bomb in his own face. He gave her a somewhat sympathetic smile, well aware of her bizarre feelings toward her sibling. “Well, give me a moment and I’ll gladly join you. I just need some fresh air.”

 

“Sure,” she sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. “Where’s the whiskey you’re drinking? It’s nicer than the shit everyone else brought.”

 

Izaya nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Shizu-chan left it in the kitchen. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

 

Namie swivelled on the ball of her foot and walked away into the crowd, her heels stabbing aggressively into the wooden floor. The informant watched her until she disappeared, then turned back to the door and headed out into the night. The balcony seemed to be empty, probably due to the chill in the springtime wind. Izaya limped across to the table in the corner and sat, groaning slightly as he lowered himself into the chair. The metal was cool against his back and rather soothing against the underside of his sore thighs. It was dark out but the residual light from the city and the stars lent a pleasant illumination to the evening. He sat there for a couple of minutes, enjoying the beauty of Ikebukuro at night, when a sharp click beside him drew him attention. A sudden burst of fire appeared in the darkness but the briefness of its life told him that it came from a lighter. When the light died, he saw that there was someone sat across from him on the other side of table. 

 

“Good evening,” he greeted, trademark smirk spreading over his face. “It’s been a long time, Vorona.”

 

The Russian stared back at him, her face set in that ever-emotionless expression. She took a drag of her cigarette and the tip flared into cherry-red light. Izaya noted that she dragged the smoke into her body for a longer period that Shizuo did, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs completely before tapping the cigarette out into the ash-tray on the table. She was dressed in a leather jacket and a pair of black jeans which blended her into the darkness of the evening, hence why he hadn’t spotted her initially. Finally, she let out a long plume of smoke and began to speak. He couldn’t see her through the haze and he felt himself tense up, the memory of her blade stabbing deep into his stomach still fresh in his mind. 

 

“Izaya,” she replied. She spoke to him in Russian, knowing full well he could answer her fluently. “I was upset to hear that you did not die.”

 

“It was a close call, so don’t think your efforts were worthless,” he said, coolly. He didn’t like this woman, he’d never liked her. There was something unreachable about her, she was a completely blank slate with a hard-set mouth and a dead look in her eyes. Shizuo still worked with her, despite everything. Izaya  _ hated  _ the way that her gaze became enlivened when she looked at her colleague. He knew exactly why her cheeks flushed and her mouth softened and it pissed him off. She was so obvious that he wondered if the blond had picked up on it, surely he wasn't that dense. 

 

“Did not kill, effort was wasted,” she stated. With a flick of her fingers, she tapped away the tip of her smoke. “I would try again if not for Shizuo’s sake.”

 

Izaya’s smile slipped before he could stop it and he found himself glaring harshly at her. “You-”

 

“You do not deserve Shizuo,” she continued, looking at him with distaste. “Would be better with an equal. Not weakling like you.”

 

The informant’s cheeks reddened with anger. “And I suppose you consider yourself his equal?”

 

“No,” she answered, blankly. “Not yet. But day will come when I am. That day he will realise he made a mistake choosing you.”

 

“How  _ amusing _ . Are you jealous?” he grinned, showing a row of teeth. 

 

“It is not jealousy. More like disappointment. I believe Shizuo feels the same deep down.”

 

The muscle beneath Izaya’s eye began to twitch. “You’re wrong. I’m more than capable of being his equal.”

 

“Not anymore,” Vorona let out another smoky breath and she gestured with the cigarette to his legs. “He beat you. You are incapable of standing with him now. Incapable of standing up to anyone.”

 

He held the top of his thigh between his fingers to stop it from shaking. The Russian was right in a way, he quite literally couldn’t stand up to Shizuo on those days when he couldn’t ignore the pain running up and down his legs. His physical strength and speed were not required as much these days, not now that the two men had become lovers rather than enemies, but the idea that he was weak really affected him. Shizuo often treated him as if he were a broken teacup that had been glued back together - one wrong move and it could be shattered again. Izaya  _ hated  _ that. He hated  _ her.  _

 

“I’m not weak,” he stated, voice lacking the force he desired. “Shizu-chan wants  _ me _ .”

 

Vorona actually  _ laughed.  _ It was short and breathy, more like a grunt but the sound of it still made him want to reach across the table and dig his switchblade into her neck. “Shizuo pities you, feels guilty for what he did. That is only reason he continues to see you.”

 

“Fuck you,” he began, finally losing control of his temper. The hand in his coat pocket curled around his flick knife. “You are  _ nothing _ -”

 

The Russian smirked at his sudden outburst and flicked her cigarette over the balcony into the night. “I am capable.”

 

Izaya scoffed but felt a pang of sadness when she stood up gracefully, not a hint of the unsteadiness or pain that affected him. He wondered if he could move fast enough to throw her over the balcony and show her what it felt like to have one’s body ruined. A small part of his mind, a part he thought he’d silenced years ago, told him that she was right. She  _ was  _ more of a match for Shizuo - strong, capable. Panic twisted his guts. Vorona saw him every day at work, what if he grew to like her, what if he one day woke up and went back to despising Izaya as he always had? Shizuo had thrown him away once before, it could quite easily happen again. 

 

“He’s  _ mine _ ,” Izaya seethed, fingers slipping the blade from the handle of his knife. 

 

“You do not deserve a good man like him.” 

 

Before he felt the presence of his partner stood at his side he spat; “He’s not a  _ good man,  _ you fucking idiot!”

 

A large hand encompassed Izaya’s shoulder and the informant looked up to see Shizuo glaring back. The knife was in his hand, flicked open and glinting dangerously in the dim light. There was a moment of silence as Shizuo’s gaze flicked back and forth between his good friend and the knife in his lover’s hand until the informant gave a scoff and shakily pushed himself to his feet. Immediately Shizuo held up both his hands and tried to stop him without physical contact. 

 

“Where are you going?” Shizuo asked. “Flea, wait I-”

 

“I'm going to find Namie and take her back to our house to get obliterated. I’m sick of this party,” Izaya hissed. He reached the glass door and slid it open gently. The informant gave Shizuo one final, seething look before moving into the party. “Don't come back to mine tonight or I'll throw a fucking knife into your stomach.” 

 

Izaya didn’t wait to hear his partner out any longer, too flushed with rage to think straight. He shoved the knife back into his pocket and stormed through the crowd of sweaty dancers. In the haze he noticed Kadota on the other side of the room, now chatting to a female rather than dancing in the group. From the look on his face it seemed that he had found the person he was trying to impress. Izaya waved at the man, who quickly returned the gesture. The woman he was speaking with turned and much to Izaya’s surprise he saw it was Mikage. The red-head gave him a curt nod then looked away and continued to speak with Kyouhei. Izaya frowned and decided to keep his distance, despite wanting to speak with the other man - he knew how tetchy Mikage could get and he really couldn’t be bothered with her at that time. As quickly as his sore body could manage, he found Namie and dragged her out of the apartment, stopping only to pick up a number of full bottles on the way. 

 

“Why are we going?” Namie asked, scowling at him as he pulled on her wrist. Izaya slammed the door behind them so that they were now alone in the hallway outside. “You want to explain why you’re trying to tug my arm off?”

 

“A number of reasons,” he hissed, tetchily. “C’mon. I’ll call a cab.”

 

He began to limp down the corridor, Namie following close behind. “Is Shizuo coming?”

 

“No,” he replied, a dark expression falling on his face. “He’s busy having fun with Vorona.”

 

“The woman who stabbed you?” she asked, raising a brow. “I’d say that was strange but about fifty percent of the people in that party have tried to kill you at some point.”

 

Izaya shot her a glare. “You’re  _ such  _ a good friend.”

 

Namie laughed unpleasantly and wound an arm around one of his as they stepped into the elevator. “The very best.”


	2. Tonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be three chapters instead, oops. Sorry for the delays - still sorting out WiFi at the new place! 
> 
> This is so damn angsty, send help to these poor boys.

Shizuo turned up at Izaya’s apartment at around midnight, a few minutes after Namie passed out on the sofa. Her head was resting on Izaya’s lap and one of her arms was wound around his waist for comfort. That pristine neatness he’d noted earlier was long gone - her clothes were now rumpled from being sprawled out and her makeup was smudged down her face due to the angry weeping about Seiji. Her face was still a little flushed but thanks to Izaya’s gentle petting of her hair she had fallen asleep. The informant was smirking down at her, amused by the ugly way her mouth hung open. If only his phone wasn’t still in his coat, he could have taken a lovely picture of her. He raised his head when the door clicked open and immediately his lips pulled down into a frown. 

 

“I thought I told you to stay out,” Izaya stated. He raised his arms and draped them across the back of the sofa. His dark eyes were set in a piercing stare and for a moment Shizuo could see some of that old hatred in them. The look made long-forgotten anger swell in his chest, a reaction that had become so second nature throughout his life that not even two years of peace between them could halt it. 

 

“Yeah well, I didn’t,” Shizuo retorted, gruffly. “I want to talk to you.”

 

Izaya jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Not here, Namie’s sleeping. In there.”

 

“She drinks like a fish, you indulge her too much.”

 

“You can hardly talk. Plus, she indulges me - not the other way round,” Izaya snorted. He slid along the sofa and lifted a pillow so that he could place it beneath Namie’s head. With a slight hiss, he pushed himself up onto his feet and wearily began the walk toward the kitchen. The ache in his legs was duller than before, undoubtedly due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, but they still hurt. He’d overdone it today, he should probably be resting rather than drunk off his face with an angry monster behind him. Izaya collapsed into one of the chairs behind the kitchen table and let out a sigh as Shizuo sat opposite. “What do you want?”

 

“I want to know why you’re so angry with me,” Shizuo replied. There was a vein throbbing in his forehead, just around his temple. It reminded the informant of their previous relationship, how the blond’s blood would pound with anger and his own eye would twitch nervously. He felt his eye twitching then and wanted to kick himself. “And no fucking around, flea, just tell me outright.”

 

“Why don’t you speak to Vorona? Ask her what she said,” Izaya answered, folding his arms across his chest. The alcohol and the jealousy prickling his mind made the truth roll easily off his tongue. 

 

“What the fuck did Vorona do? Only thing I saw was you about to throw one of your knives at her!”

 

Izaya scoffed and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Are you suggesting that a Russian assassin can’t look after herself? She’s _ capable. _ ”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not  _ weak. _ ”

 

Shizuo frowned and his brows knit together in the centre of his forehead. “I never said- I don’t think you are weak.”

 

“Your  _ friend  _ does,” he hissed, scowling unhappily. His thoughts came thick and fast and jumbled. “And she seemed so disappointed that she wasn’t able to kill me. I imagine you reminisce and console one another about your shared failure at work, huh?”

 

The blond tensed up and opened his mouth to speak only to find that he had nothing to say. Eventually, he blinked and shook his head. “Of course we don’t.” 

 

Now too drunk to care, Izaya leaned forward and a nasty smile rose on his face. “You pity me, right?”

 

“What?” Shizuo spluttered. “Of course n-”

 

“You feel guilty about w-what you did and you pity me so n-now you’re trying to make it up - is that it?” the informant continued, stumbled words dripping with spite. He turned his gaze back onto Shizuo and let out a cruel laugh. “You won’t make the guilt go away by f- _ fucking  _ me, Shizu-chan, no matter how good of a whore you are.”

 

The blond slammed his fist down on the table hard enough to send cracks shooting across the wooden top toward the other man. Izaya shoved his chair back a couple of feet and glared at Shizuo, shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

“Where the fuck is this coming from?” Shizuo growled, unclenching his fist on the table. He took in a shaky breath to try and steady himself. “Of course that isn’t why I- this is crazy! I feel awful about everything that happened but I don’t  _ pity  _ you. Why would I? Clearly you’re still the same nasty bloodsucker that you always were.”

 

Izaya stared at him in angered silence for a minute then his eyes turned down to look at the cracks in the table. He raised a hand and traced his fingers over them, expression hardening. “And y-you’re the same old monster.”

 

“Izaya-”

 

The information broker raised his head. Shizuo gazed back at him, jaw clenched tightly shut as he tried to calm himself down. The sight brought a humourless laugh to his lips. “We could go back to hating one an-nother. I may not be able to fight like I used to but I-”

 

“I don’t want to fight you,” Shizuo mumbled, mouth curving down with sadness. “I don’t want to hate you, either.”

 

Izaya almost scoffed, Vorona’s words still ringing clear in his inebriated head. “I’m not your equal anymore, Shizu-chan. Isn’t that w-what you want?”

 

The blond shook his head and the sadness on his face was replaced by confusion. “What the fuck does that mean?”

 

“Someone who can-” he paused and gestured to his legs. “Keep up with you.”

 

“You are my equal, flea. You always have been and always will be,” Shizuo grumbled, rolling his eyes. “You think I’ll ever be able to keep up with that brain of yours?”

 

The informant pouted and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s not what I mean.”

 

“Then what do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know!” Izaya exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks flushed pink with frustration. “I  _ hate  _ being like this, Shizu-chan. I hate what  _ you  _ did.”

 

All the anger drained out of Shizuo’s face and his eyes widened, oddly panicked. “I-”

 

“Enough. I’m going to bed,” the informant grumbled, slowly pushing himself to his feet. Izaya was too consumed with himself  to consider what he might be saying, that he might be exacerbating the other man’s guilt for the sake of his own jealousy. He wasn’t exactly used to dealing with own emotions, to say the very least. Instead of trying to work out what his jealous mind wanted, Izaya decided to bail. “Leave, sleep in the spare room, I don’t care.”

 

“Izaya-”

 

The informant was gone before Shizuo could speak any further. The unspoken words turned into a long sigh and the man leaned forward so that he could press his face into his hands. He had no idea what he’d done wrong, from Shizuo’s point of view all he was trying to do was look after the other man. Why did caring piss Izaya off so much? He’d mentioned something about Vorona, Shizuo thought. Izaya had been threatening her before he stormed out of the party - or at least that was what he thought he saw - perhaps she said something. He knew the Russian despised his partner, it was obvious from the way her posture stiffened when he spoke about him. It was difficult and he wasn’t sure why Vorona was so against their relationship. After all, Namie accepted it and he’d basically shot her. 

 

As if on cue, the woman stumbled into the kitchen. She peered at Shizuo through her hair and blew the stray strands away from her eyes. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her skin slightly clammy due to the quantity of alcohol she had consumed. Izaya’s signature jacket was hanging off her shoulders, the arms flapping freely at her sides. It suited her, he thought, it suited both of them. Lazily, she raised a hand and pointed toward the sink. 

 

“Can you gimme some water?” she asked, blinking slowly. “‘N maybe some bread?”

 

Shizuo raised a brow and stood so that he could guide Namie into a chair. “You mean toast?”

 

“No, bread  _ idiot _ ,” she slurred, slumping down onto the table. Her head fell forward onto her forearms and she groaned dramatically. “Shizu-chan, I think -  _ hic!  _ \- I think I’m dying.”

 

_ Shizu-chan _ . She always called him that now, having taken Izaya up on the use of the nickname that still managed to piss him off. With an amused chuckle, the blond moved across the room and poured Namie a glass of water. He set it down in front of her and paused to pat her head condescendingly before moving to the cupboard to find food. Namie grunted at the touch of his hand and swiped at the empty space where he had been stood. 

 

“You’re not dying,” Shizuo laughed, as he removed a loaf of bread from the cupboard beside the oven. “You’re just drunk.”

 

“Ugh,” she raised her head so that she could take a sip of water. “I am definitely dying.”

 

Shizuo tutted and sat in the chair beside her as he passed her the bread. Namie grabbed it hungrily and immediately started tearing chunks off to stuff into her mouth. Crumbs quickly littered the table and clung to the fur around the cuffs of the jacket she was wearing. The blond raised a brow but she just made a face at him. 

 

“I think my days are numbered as well, to be honest,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head with his palm. “I’ll probably wake up with Izaya’s knife between my eyes.”

 

“Oh yeah-” she replied, words muffled by food. She swallowed the mouthful and offered Shizuo the ragged end of the bread. The blond chuckled and tore off a small amount to appease her. “He’s  _ pissed.  _ But not with you, I ‘dun think.” Shizuo tilted his head in question as she continued. “That Vorona bitch-”

 

“Namie,” he chided. 

 

The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh shuddup. You call me a bitch all the time.”

 

“You  _ are  _ a bitch.”

 

“Says the bastard who -  _ hic _ \- shot me,” she teased, pointing at her shoulder. Before he could respond, she held up the bread to silence him. “You wanna hear or not?”

 

Shizuo nodded but stood up swiftly. “Wait a minute. I need to be more on your level, I think. 

 

The woman continued to tear at the loaf until he returned with an extremely large glass of Izaya’s whiskey. She smirked and gave an unpleasant snort. “He’ll definitely kill you f’drinkin’ his best booze.”

 

“Whatever,” he groaned. He took a large gulp of the amber liquid and gestured for her to continue. Namie leaned forward so their heads were a little closer and her tone hushed a little as she spoke. 

 

“Oh right. Well, Izaya’s very sensitive ‘bout his fucked up legs, obviously,” Namie slurred, cupping one hand around her lips as if they were conspiring about some dark secret. Shizuo tensed slightly at the blase way she spoke about his partner’s injuries - the injuries he caused. He took another sip of his drink, trying to let the alcohol burn off the guilt. “I think she prodded that issue a lot. Also some shit about how he doesn’t deserve you because you’re  _ oh so wonderful _ .”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, I know - like you’re a fucking saint-”

 

Shizuo growled under his breath. “What the hell is she thinking?”

 

Namie gave another one of her horrible laughs and slapped the bread down on the table. “Isn’t it obvious? She  _ likes _ you.”

 

The blond opened his mouth to speak but instead furrowed his brow and shook his head. After knocking back a good half of his drink, he glanced back up at Namie, who was staring blearily back. “That’s not true. Vorona doesn’t-”

 

“Even if she doesn’t, Izaya sure as hell thinks she does,” she drawled. “He’s jealous. And trust me when I say that jealousy can be a  _ very  _ dangerous emotion.” Her expression fell and for a moment she looked like her usual bitter self. “He’s probably worried that he’ll lose to her ‘cos he’s not what he used to be. He thinks he’s weak.”

 

“He said that earlier,” Shizuo added, scowling into his drink. Surely Vorona wouldn’t try and fuck things up for him - then again, she really hated the informant. Perhaps her hatred for Izaya was greater than her want for Shizuo to be happy. The blond pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to make sense of the matter. All this was far too complicated. 

 

“Well, he is,” Namie said, with a shrug. Upon seeing the withering look Shizuo gave her, she sighed. “Oh come on, you know what I mean. His body gets tired and when it’s tired, he has harder time controlling it. He was stammerin’ a lot tonight, didn’t you notice? Sometimes he’s physically weak but I don’t think that’s what he was referring to.”

 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Shizuo grunted, dropping his hand back down onto the table. “This is all way past my knowledge.”

 

“The five times table is way past your knowledge, Shizuo,” Namie taunted, enjoying the way he pouted at her. “So I’ll illuminate. Izaya hates what you did-”

 

Shizuo scowled and heard the informant’s voice echo in Namie’s words. “That's obvious.” 

 

Namie shook the bread at him and crumbs spilled over the table. “Well huh. And I'm sure you hate that he tried to kill you multiple times. But things are different now, so you both need to _relax._ Or at least stop blaming current issues on all that past bollocks. If you can’t do that then break the fuck up, it’s not gonna work. Things were never gonna be easy - you're both clearly inexperienced in relationship and _normal_ human emotion in general. Izaya doesn’t know how to deal with what he’s feeling so he’s lashing out.”

 

The blond nodded. After her diatribe Namie fell forward onto the crust of bread and fell quickly asleep. Shizuo sat for a couple more thoughtful minutes, then smiled at her unconscious form and gave a sigh. 

 

“Fucking drunkards,” he tutted. After placing his glass into the sink he crossed the room so that he could pick up the woman and carry her upstairs to the spare room. The dead weight was still so easy for him to carry, almost as if she weighed as little as a feather. Gently, he laid her down on the mattress and covered her body with the duvet - not that she’d need it, she’d probably be out cold until late afternoon. Shizuo frowned and headed back out into the hallway, flicking off the lightswitch before closing the door. It seemed more sensible to crash on the sofa tonight, he thought as he headed downstairs. He ignored the desperate want to traipse into Izaya’s room-  _ their  _ room - and sleep beside him. Undoubtedly the hungover informant would keep his secrets sealed, as he always did, which meant tomorrow he would need to speak with Vorona. 

 

As he laid back on the couch his mind ran over all the things Namie had said. Izaya - weak? He smirked and rolled onto his side. Even now, Izaya was the most powerful person he knew. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
